Laika
by DNAzne
Summary: Years before 20xx, one boy gave up everything to defend others by becoming a soldier. But even a soldier's path will lead to unexpected friends and foes, and ultimately bring Laika to understand what he is fighting for. EXE anime-verse, prequel.
1. Andrei Sergeyevich Milenkov

**Author Note:** This is a (eventual) multi-chapter prequel to EXE focused mainly on Laika's past. Because I plan to show a gradual character development, it may read like an OC-fic at times, but I promise to keep Laika as un-OOC as possible. It will also feature a more serious portrayal of the Sharo government and military system, and a little bit of gratuitious Russian naming; resemblances to real-world events and history will not be at ALL exact, but will definitely exist. As you may be able to tell, I'm using anime-canon, since it's the only place Laika's history has ever been mentioned in.

I'm writing this fic as a personal project, sort of as my own headcanon of EXE - as such, I'd really appreciate constructive criticism on characterization, plotting, or just any discussion you'd like to have in general. I certainly don't know these characters well enough to be "right" in their portrayal, and I'd be very happy to discuss them with others. Suggestions are welcome.

*_1_*_1_*_1_*_1_*_1_*

The boy showed up that afternoon on Andrei Sergeyevich Milenkov's doorstep, hastily bundled in his father's careworn brown overcoat and a ragged scarf. Milenkov, a military man with no reputation for sentimentality among his soldiers, simply bent down and hugged his nephew for a long time. Neither of them cried. Milenkov hadn't done so in weeks, and the boy formerly known as Alexei Milenkov simply stared into space.

Sharo's age-old silver mines were gone. The collapse had come unexpectedly, but at the worst possible time, while the mines' safety systems were downed by an attack from a still-unknown terrorist group. Andrei Milenkov's brother and his wife – young Alexei's parents, both miners, had been within. Years afterwards, Milenkov remembered three distinct events from that day. The call he received; his soldiers stumbling under bodies borne from the ruins; and Alexei, standing in front of the former mine entrance, clutching a pickaxe and crying too hard to swing it.

It had taken a week for Milenkov to set his brother's affairs in order. It had taken another for him to successfully plead for custody of his nephew from Sharo's military-run orphanage system, which famously turned its wards into either celebrated soldiers or unmarked graves in the snow. Milenkov's own rank was a great help to him in this latter effort. However, his eventual success was marred by one law, issued in revolutionary days past, that even his colonel's stripes couldn't countermand. Alexei Milenkov the orphan could no longer be known by his given name. He would have to take on a new, single name granted by the state, his new guardian in spirit if not in actuality, as a mark of its glory and generosity in taking him in.

Even in spirit, Andrei Milenkov thought, it was still a load of crock unworthy of Sharo. But he kept such thoughts to himself for Alexei's sake.

Two days after Alexei's arrival at his door, Milenkov went to the Records Department to receive his nephew's new name. The official sitting behind the dirty glass window had pointed, small eyes and a nose like a rat's, and riffed through his papers with unnecessary irritation when Milenkov made his inquiry.

"…here." He said, finally handing Milenkov a sheaf of documents. "And sign here, and here, and-"

"There must be some mistake." Milenkov said quietly. "This is a dog's name."

The man stared at him.

"This is the name of one of the most distinguished citizens of Sharo, man or animal, _colonel_. You should be pleased that your ward was able to receive such an honorable name! If you are not, I suggest you take it up with your superior officer. Have you any further questions?"

Milenkov silently signed the papers and strode out of the office.

Sharo, long ago when the internet had not yet become commonplace, had placed greater emphasis on a space program that was the envy of the world. A stray dog had been the first and most iconic creature sent into orbit, and still served as a symbol of national pride even as the program, and Sharo's fortunes, slowly faded. Andrei Milenkov knew all this. Yet he felt a sense of foreboding, unrelated to his suppressed desire to punch the rat-nosed man, as he reached his car.

Alexei, waiting inside, moved over as his uncle got into the backseat. He was silent as the driver slowly guided the car along deserted streets, but either curiosity or anxiety finally overcame his muteness. He asked, softly, "Uncle, what's my name now?"

Milenkov met his nephew's eyes for a moment, then smiled sadly. There was nothing else to say.

"Laika."

*_1_*_1_*_1_*_1_*_1_*

Sharo had frozen. The worst winter in recent memory kept hospitals busy and morgues busier, and not only with the dead. The living poor had begun to erect shacks next to the crematorium, seeking whatever small source of heat they could find.

After several complaints from an increasingly apoplectic morgue director about "a blatant lack of respect", Andrei Milenkov finally sent several soldiers to maintain order. They returned, innocently speculating on the director's mental health; they certainly hadn't seen any disrespectful poor people. Milenkov simply smiled. Driving home that night, he paused by the crematorium-shantytown to deliver a few boxes of dried food and old clothing that his men had gathered. Laika went with him to help.

Later, Milenkov would be unable to say what exactly he had seen that night, watching his nephew carry boxes of assorted goods among the crowd. But he was sure of one thing; in less than a year, the boy had changed. Alexei had once been quiet and dutiful, an avid reader but a fairly unfocused student. Laika had risen to first in his class within a month of changing schools. He was still reserved, but now his reticence hid something harder, sharper, which only disappeared when he was left alone with animals. And, Milenkov realized, when he stood in the falling snow and looked into pleading faces, and handed out boxes of biscuits to outstretched hands.

It was this final observation that left Andrei Milenkov entirely unsurprised when, one February night several weeks later, he looked up from his readings to find Laika standing in his study. The boy stared resolutely back at him.

"I want to become a soldier, Uncl – Sir."

Milenkov looked down for a moment to mark his place, then set the book aside. Meeting his nephew's eyes again, he asked, calmly, "Why?"

Laika didn't blink. "I want to help people, Sir."

"Help, you say? And stop calling me Sir." The colonel ran a hand through his graying hair. He suddenly felt old.

"Then be a doctor. That's what they're for. Make good money, too-"

"That's different, Uncle." Laika pressed on. "Doctors only help people who've already been hurt. I want to make sure people don't get hurt to begin with, to stop bad things before they happen. I want to protect them, because people shouldn't have to be afraid and poor, and live next to morgues, and -"

That's not what soldiers do in Sharo, lad. Milenkov wanted to say. You're too inexperienced. I didn't take you out of that place to see you turned into someone like me. Wouldn't you rather live a normal life? You don't know what you're missing out on…

Instead, he waited.

"- have to lose people they care about." Laika finished, his voice shaking only slightly. His gaze remained firm.

Milenkov said simply, "You won't become a good soldier by wishing and being caring. You become a good soldier by following orders, enduring pain, and eliminating enemies. If you want to help those you love, go into government. If you want to help all humanity, join the priesthood. But don't treat soldiering as a game of idealism, Laika."

Laika was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, "I know. But I don't want to rely on other people or on God, Uncle. I want to become strong enough to protect people myself. Whether or not it's hard, it's the only thing I can do."

What if I said no? Andrei Milenkov thought. But he knew that he wouldn't. The naïvete of Laika's words belied something cold, determined, and old, something which told Milenkov in no uncertain terms that he would lose, that he had already lost from the day he took Alexei in and tried to save a childhood already gone. The only thing his answer determined would be what exactly he had lost.

This battle? Or his nephew?

The next day, he went to the youth training camp and held a cordial discussion with the major in charge. A week later, Laika had gone, leaving on the mantelpiece a note that said only, _Thank you._


	2. Ilya

A/N: I leave stories in piecemeal form for too long, and I apologize to anyone who's reading this for the length of time between the first and this chapter.

* * *

Two months had passed since the appearance of the blue-haired boy, next to a man wearing colonel's stripes, at the gates of the camp. Two months had likewise gone by since Major Mikhail Razhin assigned Laika to his training squad of orphans.

Ilya had never come to hate anyone more in just two months.

It wasn't because of the rate at which Laika took to training, and became at least second-best in most of his courses in a matter of weeks; Ilya had enough grace to be no more than mildly envious of others' skill. It also wasn't due to the attention being given to Laika as a result of this skill, or whatever else – Ilya didn't care much for attention. It was, however, partially due to the gossip, which had been circulating camp since the day Laika arrived. The colonel with him was his uncle, some suggested. No, his father, said others, and he was an illegitimate child that the man didn't want to deal with, you know how officers are. The latter idea had been quashed when Valentina, whose own father had done the same, threatened to douse anyone who spoke of it with iced water in their sleep. But the rest of the suspicions followed the same general train of thought. If Laika had a relative – family – what was he doing here?

Such an issue by itself wouldn't have been enough to arouse Ilya's dislike had it not been for Yuri. Yuri, never one of the more skilled trainees but the sort of person nobody could hate, had finally gotten tired of the speculation and declared that whatever the case, Laika was here now and Yuri wouldn't question his right to be accepted as a comrade. Yuri had gone up to Laika, who no one else had spoken directly to yet, and genially offered an invitation to eat together.

"Sorry, I can't." Laika had said, expressionless. "I don't need to be distracted."

Yuri had taken the rebuff with his usual good humor, but Ilya had been incensed at the respone, and his ire only grew each time Yuri offered another such invitation and was brusquely rejected. He had tried to keep his patience by asking Yuri about it.

"Who does he think he is? He's an idiot with no manners, and I don't see how you could still be so nice..."

"I'm sure he's got his reasons." Yuri had said, amicably, but Ilya had suspicions about just what those reasons were. He had been at the camp long enough to understand that even if Major Razhin treated the orphans fairly, no one else would do the same. To the other soldiers-in-training who were enlisted, on track to becoming officers, or simply had parents to return to, the orphans who had nowhere to go, "Razhin's dogs", were less than dirt. Ilya himself had fought this scorn to little effect, and had eventually helped gather the younger orphans together into a more close-knit group, which supported its members against such derision. Unsurprisingly, the older orphans had soon also drifted in, and aside from a few mishaps, their makeshift family had come to function very well. None of the new orphans who joined them had objected to being included.

But Laika alone had refused all offers of friendship, and had made no effort to interact with the other orphans since arriving in camp. Laika, Ilya had realized, did not care for the group. And the only explanation that Ilya could think of, which had come to him as he overheard two of the others gossiping, was that Laika had family. Not birth parents, but the colonel who had been with him on the first day was clearly a close relative, one who would have taken him in, one who would support him. Laika, alone of all of them, had someone waiting for him outside of the camp's gates – and because of this, despite his name as one of them, Laika must have regarded the rest of the orphans as below him and unworthy of his attention.

That was when Ilya had begun to hate him.

He had done nothing at first, hoping that Laika would only be a short-term addition to their squad. But as the weeks and months dragged on and Laika showed no signs of leaving or acknowledging the other orphans, Ilya had found himself becoming increasingly hostile. Laika would return to barracks to find his belongings strewn across the floor, or would be tripped while going to marksmanship training, while Ilya was passing the other way. Laika knew exactly who was tormenting him, Ilya was certain, and after scattering Laika's belongings he had lain awake for half the night, wondering whether he would be reported to the Major. He certainly deserved it. He was ashamed of himself then, and not for the last time.

Yet Laika, in another strike of oddity, refused to even indicate that he knew – or cared – that Ilya actively hated him. As a result, Ilya's shame had soon given way to anger. He would have been fine with being hated in return, and had expected it; Laika's utter lack of response was unacceptable. It was as if the other boy saw himself as so much higher than Ilya that he wouldn't even deign to respond to Ilya's antagonism. Whether or not that was the case, Ilya grew more rash.

"What are you even doing here, huh?" He had challenged Laika once, during fencing practice, after jabbing his sabre a bit harshly into Laika's midsection and causing the other boy to stumble. "If you're so much better than us _orphans_, why don't you go train with the enlisted men? Or go back to your uncle, go on!"

Although Laika's expression was impossible to tell behind the face guard, his voice was emotionless. "I don't know what you're talking about, but it's none of your business."

"The hell it's not!" Ilya exclaimed, but at that moment the buzzer rang and they were forced to separate. He had then cornered Laika after practice and demanded an explanation. When none seemed forthcoming, he shoved Laika to the ground, scattered his already-packed fencing gear, and left. But even when Laika arrived late to their next training section and faced a blistering scolding from the corporal in charge, he said nothing about Ilya.

"Ilya," Yuri said to him, as they left the section together for the dining hall. "You're going a little far with this. He might be arrogant, and I'm not even sure about that, but he hasn't done anything _wrong_, or hurt you, or -"

Ilya shook his head.

"You're a saint, Yuri. I'm not. He acts so high and mighty just because he has family to go back to, it's sickening, and I don't know why he doesn't just join the enlisted soldiers and use his real name, his _uncle_ certainly could pull it off -"

Yuri looked at him as if he were brilliant. Ilya stared back suspiciously. "What?"

"Maybe he's unhappy about his orphan-name and just wants things to go back to normal." Yuri suggested. "I would, and I don't even have a dog's name – but, in any case, we should ask his real name and call him by that. That way you don't have to think of him as an orphan and can just ignore him, right?"

Ilya had immediately voiced several objections. But Yuri had taken the idea to heart, and Ilya was not unfamiliar with how stubborn Yuri could be about some of his ideas; Ilya had as yet been unable to talk him out of continuing his attempts at befriending Laika. And so Ilya gave in without much of a struggle. They approached Laika the next day at noon meal, as the boy sat reading in the shade of one of the evergreens in the courtyard. Ilya remained silent as Yuri spoke.

"Excuse me, but...would you tell us your given name?"

Laika visibly froze. After a moment, without looking up and in a tone of voice impossible to decipher, he asked, "What?"

"Are you deaf-" Ilya began, but Yuri cut him off and continued, earnestly, "Well, I thought that you might like us to use your given name instead of your orphan-name, since...well, it's a dog's -"

Laika set his book aside and got to his feet. Yuri, almost half a head taller than him, suddenly appeared to shrink as Laika fixed him with a withering stare, his voice colder than any ten-year-old's Ilya had ever heard.

"Who asked you to care? My name is none of your business, and I don't need your pity. Shouldn't you focus more on fixing your own lack of skill and intelligence, instead of _faking_ friendliness and trying to get me to -"

Ilya punched him in the face.

"Take that back." He hissed, as Laika staggered back, holding his cheek with one hand. Yuri was yelling something at him, but Ilya couldn't care about that this time. He would apologize to Yuri later. The only thing he wanted to do at the moment was to beat the daylights out of the snotty little brat who'd insulted Yuri, and by extension every orphan who he'd taken under his wing. "Take that back, or I'll -"

"I refuse." Laika replied, his voice muffled by his hand but steady.

Ilya threw another punch, and this time Laika guarded - somewhat inexpertly - and only caught a glancing blow across the shoulder. They separated, circling each other warily. Laika made no move to strike back, and this for some reason infuriated Ilya more than anything else he had said.

"Hit me." Ilya taunted. "Come on! You want to talk about skill? Then show me yours! Or is all your training only good for licking the officers' boots, you dog?"

His taunt was met with silence and no change whatsoever in Laika's demeanor. With a roar, Ilya went on the offensive, hurling punches and kicks wildly in an attempt to pummel every bit of the other boy he could get at. He was leaving himself open, the calmer half of him knew. An expert opponent could have brought him down easily, and yet Laika _continued_ to guard without even countering. But some of his blows were definitely connecting, and Laika was stumbling back while Ilya pressed forward. This, along with Laika's silence, fueled Ilya's anger and kept him attacking. An audience had gathered by this time, but Ilya ignored them. Yuri had gone, which meant Ilya could concentrate on the fight, and he was going to wipe that smug look off Laika's face if it was the last thing he did -

A pair of stronger hands grabbed his shoulders. Before Ilya could react, he found his arms forced behind his back, and a gruff voice was saying into his ear, "don't move, you little hellion, or I won't be responsible for anything you break."

Panting with exertion, Ilya forced himself to be still and tried to get a clearer grasp of the situation. Another figure – an officer, Ilya realized with a shock – was behind Laika and holding onto him firmly, although without restraining his arms as Ilya's captor had. The murmur of their audience had died away. The conspicuousness of its absence made the silence all the more unbearable, and Ilya didn't dare look around.

The two officers – for of course that was who they were, Ilya thought with growing panic – barked something at the gathered trainees, who scattered. And then Ilya's captor forcibly turned him in the direction of the main compound, Laika's presumably following suit, and said, "Walk. I'm sure the Major would like an explanation."

Ilya walked, his head down, with Laika behind him and the two officers somewhere behind them, and did not turn around until they had reached the open door of Major Mikhail Razhin's office.


	3. Mikhail Razhin

A/N: To all of you who understand military rankings, I apologize for handwaving a NCO's promotion to major. However, I felt that with the somewhat unsettled state of Sharo (before the internet and world peace) and in wartime, "battlefield commissions" would not be extremely difficult to obtain for those willing or crazy enough to put in the effort, as this character is.

Also, Navis! They finally show up in the next chapter! Sorry for boring you with humans so far.

* * *

Before the war with Creamland, Mikhail Ivanovich Razhin had been a farmer in a small village by Lake Kalbai. He, along with one member of each household in his village, had been drafted near the beginning of the war, and had left his young daughters for a border station not twenty miles away. He'd promised his daughters, who were too young to know better, to bring back a Sharo fighter for them to fly in.

Three days after his departure, the village was gone. A bomber – whether from Creamland or Sharo, Razhin never found out – had crashed with its load, killing everyone in the town square and setting flames across the wheat fields. Razhin's squad had only discovered the destruction when they were sent to put out the flames, days later, and Razhin never saw his daughters again. After that incident, half of his squad had simply disappeared into the forests and mountains surrounding the base. Whether they sought missing family, solace, or simply death, Razhin chose not to know.

But Razhin stayed, at first only because he was too numb to leave, and then because he could no longer leave. They had been reassigned to another station farther away in order to stem the desertions, and there refugees, the majority of them children, came to them. Razhin and several of his comrades soon grew thinner, and Razhin was once severely punished for stealing food from the stores. But through their privations, many of the children lived through that year, and Razhin found his numbness slowly being replaced by a fierce determination he didn't know he had. The war went on and Mikhail Razhin fought, both for his comrades and for the children who gathered about him. His commanding officers saw his potential, and he rose through the ranks, eventually receiving a battlefield commission as a lieutenant and various honors he never afterward cared to talk about.

So it was that Razhin ended up being promoted to major, with a great deal of impressive medals and trinkets, by the war's end. He had then shocked his more ambitious colleagues by immediately requesting a transfer to the most needy orphan training camp available. There Razhin had stayed for the last fifteen years, through the rise of the internet and the reorganization of the military, and even his detractors could say nothing against the quality of the soldiers he trained. And here he was.

The footsteps stopped just outside his office. Turning from the open window that overlooked the courtyard, from which he had seen the fight, Razhin waved the two sergeants and the captured miscreants in. Ilya looked somewhat ashamed but defiant, and Laika simply stared at the ground, but both hastily stood to attention as the Major turned to them.

This was not Ilya's first time in his office, and Razhin had a fair idea of what to expect from the boy. Laika, however, was another matter entirely.

"Report, Sergeant Mihailov." Razhin said.

"Sir." Mihailov recounted the incident, and Razhin kept his eyes on his trainees' faces. Ilya squirmed visibly when the sergeant mentioned his taunting, and tried to inconspicuously look everywhere but at Razhin's face, while Laika remained almost expressionless through the entire retelling. As Mihailov finished speaking, however, Razhin thought he saw something flit across the blue-haired boy's face. It was gone in a moment.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

The two sergeants bowed, turned, and left. Razhin waited until the door had closed behind them, their footsteps vanishing down the hallway, before looking back towards the two trainees.

"Now, I want you to forget everything you've just heard, and use your own recollections." He said calmly. "Tell me – which of you started this fight?"

"I did, sir." Laika replied.

Ilya, apparently about to speak, stared at him open-mouthed. Razhin only raised an eyebrow. "Explain, Trainee Laika."

Laika's unflinching stare was almost unnerving. "Sir. In anger, I insulted Ilya by saying things that I felt were true about his friend. I further insulted him by refusing to take back my words, and thus I am wholly responsible for provoking him into striking me. I have acted wrongly, and I will accept whatever punishment you choose to give."

Razhin looked at the boy for a moment longer, then nodded and turned towards Ilya. "Do you agree with this assessment, Trainee Ilya?"

"Sir. I..." Ilya visibly swallowed, then continued, in a rush, "no, sir. I am at fault. I-I allowed my personal bias to provoke me into being rash, and acted out of anger unbecoming of a soldier of Sharo. I am solely responsi-"

"That will do." Razhin said gently, and Ilya stopped mid-sentence, his face red with shame. Ilya, then, was still honest. Razhin had been afraid that this was no longer true; he had not been deaf to the rumors of a vendetta between the two trainees. This was not something he would have expected from Ilya, the boy who'd made supporting and encouraging the other orphans his personal goal. But Ilya at least seemed to understand his part in the matter. Laika, on the other hand...

The Major made a quick decision.

"Trainee Ilya," he said, "Trainee Laika. Despite your claims, I do not believe the both of you share the same amount of blame for this incident, and I wish to speak with you individually. Trainee Ilya, you will please wait outside until I send for you; there is a bench and you are permitted to sit. Trainee Laika, stay – and take a chair."

Ilya hastily bowed and exited, carefully closing the door behind him. Razhin waited until Laika had taken a seat as well before continuing, in a softer voice.

"Laika. I will drop the formalities and speak, for the moment, of another subject; I have heard of an incident in which your personal belongings were vandalized. Do you know who was responsible?"

He scanned Laika's face as he asked this, but there was no change in the boy's demeanor as he responded, quietly, "No, sir."

"No likely suspects either?" Razhin pressed.

"I really couldn't say, sir."

Another officer might have demanded a more direct answer or an explanation, but that was not how Mikhail Razhin chose to operate. He nodded and moved on. "I have also heard rumors that Trainee Ilya is not personally fond of you, and has made this clear to you on more than one occasion. Among all of the trainees, he would have had the greatest incentive for vandalizing your belongings. With this in mind, would you change your assessment of guilt?"

Laika hesitated for a moment, and then said, just as quietly, "No, sir."

He had been considering Ilya's antagonism from the beginning, then, Razhin thought. And even knowing that Ilya hates him isn't enough to make him assign blame to anyone – except to himself. Razhin had never known another trainee to honestly feel at fault for speaking truth rashly, yet Laika, upon claiming responsibility for the fight, had shown no sign of deception. So either Colonel Milenkov's family raised very good liars – and Razhin had heard that the Colonel had a streak of honesty a mile wide and couldn't lie to save his life – or Laika had truly felt that he was responsible for Ilya's attack.

Neither option was preferable. But the latter, Razhin suddenly realized, would explain something that even he had found odd about the incident that day.

"Laika," he said quietly, "let me ask frankly. Ilya attacked you today. Why did you not defend yourself?"

Apparently Laika had not expected this question, and he looked up in mild surprise. "...I did, sir. I guarded myself as I had been taught to -"

"You did not counter-attack." Razhin said. "Sergeant Mihailov noticed; even I did as I watched from this window. You had every right to strike back in self-defense and stop Ilya from continuing, but you did not. Aversion to combat is not normally an admirable trait in a soldier, Laika. Did Ilya coerce or bully you in some other way into this? Why did you do so?"

Laika gazed downward and was silent for a while, and Razhin was content to wait. Finally, he responded, in a soft but steady voice, "Ilya has never done anything of the sort, sir. I knew myself that I deserved it."

The boy fell silent again, apparently searching for the right words. Razhin remained quiet as well, and soon Laika went on.

"I insulted his friend and provoked him, sir. He had a right to strike at me in response. I didn't fight back because it would have been...arrogant of me, sir, to try to prevent or stop bad results that I deserved."

Razhin chose his words carefully. "Your definition of 'arrogance', Trainee, is not one I would use. Did you not consider at all your own _right_ to protect yourself against bodily harm?"

"But I did, sir." Laika replied. "I considered Ilya's right to be angry at me, and the likelihood of my receiving injuries that would interfere with my duties in training, and I decided to guard -"

"That's not the point!"

He had never before had to explain the point of self-defense to any of his trainees; most of them had managed to pick it up after surviving in harsh climates, both natural and social. But here Laika was, blithely speaking as if he had never heard of the idea, and Razhin could not tell if the boy was being intentionally obtuse or - "Consider yourself, Laika! Do you actually wish to bear injuries and suffer for a week or more just because you feel you were deserving of _some_ punishment? Wouldn't you prefer to fight, to defend yourself from such harm?"

Laika looked at him oddly, and then said, with complete sincerity, "Sir, I don't have enough worth as a person to warrant defending myself or considering my preferences."

_What?_

"_My nephew takes a good many things very seriously." _Colonel Milenkov had said as they toured the courtyard, that day when he had first come to speak with Razhin._ "His goal to serve Sharo is one of these. However...I would worry more about those things which he does not feel are worth consideration, whatever they may be. I do not know for sure, myself."_

The Colonel had seemed sad that day, and Razhin had not trusted himself to ask further about that remark, which he was now beginning to grasp. Self-loathing was not an alien sentiment to Mikhail Razhin. He had never forgotten his failure to protect his daughters, and had spoken to far too many orphaned trainees who blamed and disparaged themselves for the loss of their family. But Razhin had never met anyone who _accepted_ their self-loathing to such a degree - that he took it as objective fact that his own life was below consideration – as Laika had.

Razhin found that his mouth was half-hanging open, and closed it. Laika was still looking at him oddly. Forcing emotion from his voice with an effort, he said, "you are practicing to become a soldier, Trainee. If you do not even regard your own self as worth defending, what are you fighting for and why are you here?"

"For others – to protect others from harm, sir." Laika immediately said.

Razhin blinked. After Laika's small revelation, he had not expected that. "Explain."

"Sir. I want to defend others, so that they will not be hurt or suffer– whether from war, or famine, or external enemies, or - " Laika hesitated for a moment, but continued steadily, "accidents caused by inadequacy. I feel that this is the sole duty of a ward of Sharo: to use his or her own strength to fight for and protect the weak and helpless, and all who need protection."

Where have I heard that before? Razhin thought. And why do I...but Laika was continuing.

"...and I – like any other orphan, if I am weak, if I become distracted by other things, if I can't perform my duty and protect others by my own strength, then I am worth nothing to anyone. That is why, until I have become a soldier who can be of use to others, I can't spare consideration for myself. Sir."

Mihail Ivanovich Razhin looked at the boy then, as if for the first time, and understood. He saw a man, stumbling away from charred wheat fields, who was young and fit but had nothing to live for and nothing to protect. He saw a boy, taunted by his fellow soldiers for his own tragedies, suffering but even more acutely aware of others' suffering. That man, searching for a cause, had met the refugee children. Ilya, a natural leader too aware of injustice, had come to defend his fellow orphans.

But Laika did not have the refugee children, and because he regarded all orphans as he did himself, he could not see them as Ilya had. Laika, too, wished to serve as a defender, but he had nothing to defend. And Razhin knew then what he should have done since the day Laika arrived in his camp.

He stood. He had been silent for a while, although Laika had kept his eyes on him, waiting anxiously – for an order? A reprimand? Derision? But Razhin simply said, "Admirable. I commend you for your depth of thought and dedication to Sharo, Trainee Laika. I see now that my sergeants' reports of your prowess are fully deserved."

Laika stood as well, and bowed. "Thank you, sir."

"But it remains the case that you have accepted responsibility for the fight." Razhin went on, noting that Laika made no moves indicating surprise. He had expected punishment, after all. "Given the circumstances, I think it only proper that you be removed from courses you share with Ilya, such as fencing and swim, for a while. I know you have excelled in fencing; let that be your punishment. Beginning tomorrow, you will instead report to the Net Defense instructor."

For the first time that day, he saw Laika taken aback. "...Net Defense, sir?"

"Indeed." And despite himself, Razhin smiled. "The Internet of Sharo is a growing platform for development and growth upon which Sharo's people depend, Trainee Laika. Furthermore, its citizens, though data, are Sharo's citizens as well. Its defense is of no less importance than the defense of Sharo proper, and must be entrusted to a new generation of Sharo's soldiers. From what I have heard here, you will be a worthy candidate for such a role."

Slowly, Laika nodded, and Razhin saw that though his expression remained dubious, his eyes were shining.

"I understand, sir. Then, will I be..."

"Assigned a Net Navi?" The Major asked. "Immediately. I have already instructed Sergeant Mihailov to prepare several. You may report to her, and are now dismissed; I believe Trainee Ilya has waited long enough for us."

Laika looked up at him, seeming to want to say something, and then bowed deeply, wordlessly, and left.

Gazing after the boy's retreating figure, Mikhail Razhin sighed. Laika was not yet secure, he knew. The boy's self-view remained skewed, and he would have a long way to go before he could come to better understand his role in the world. But Mikhail Razhin believed in first steps, and in second steps, and in supporting his trainees in each step until they discovered their own paths. That was why he was here, and that was why he would stay until Sharo forcibly bundled him home on a stretcher or in a coffin – he didn't much care either way.

He shook his head, smiling at his own foolishness. Then, he called for Ilya.


End file.
